Recently I had to undergo an endoscopic procedure to attempt to diagnose some GI issues I've been having lately. I was assured the entire time that is is an unobtrusive, relatively painless, easy procedure that would take about 15 minutes and that I would be able to walk away from it feeling perfectly chipper and healthy.
Everyone lied.
It was the most traumatizing experience I've ever gone through and I've been to the head trauma center for a possible broken neck.
First of all, I've never had anything like this done to me before. The closest to it was when I had my wisdom teeth removed, and I was only given laughing gas for that. I'm also not a big fan of needles, so the thought of an actual tube being shoved up a vein was terrifying.
After the bloody painful jabbing, i was terrified of moving my arm because i was convinced that i would either pull out the IV and start spewing blood/have to be jabbed again or that i would feel the tube knocking up against my bones and tendons. Don't tell me if this was logical or not, I was terrified.
Once they took me to the surgery room, they proceeded to grill me about my bodily functions and then sprayed this foul tasting gunk into my mouth, which immediately made my tongue, jaw, and throat go completely numb. And then they asked me more questions. Questions that I couldn't answer because they had just stolen the power of speech from me. Then they gave me knock out drugs that made me loose grip on both reality and my general motor skills. Despite this I was expected to roll over onto my side and open my mouth wide enough to have a harness strapped to my head to keep my mouth open.
That is the last thing I remember before the procedure.
The next thing I knew, I was semi-conscious, blind and struggling to breath around this mass of rubber tubing almost completely blocking my entire esophagus. I responded as any sane, half alive creature would do; I started struggling afraid I was going to suffocate. This led to me being held down and told to breathe deeply and calm down. This made me struggle more, especially when I felt the tubing being pulled out slowly. I could feel it in it's entirety, from my mouth and throat all the way down into my stomach. I. Was. Terrified. ... and still completely unable to see.
The end of the procedure and my journey into the recovery room was blurred; I can't remember much of it except for people telling me to calm down and blurry flashes of light. The next lucid memory I had was of my dad holding my hand and wiping away the tears on my face. The doctor was there, but I couldn't understand anything he was telling me. I remember a nurse forcing me to drink some water, being questioned on how much pain I was in, and my IV being pulled out. I was in pain, I was confused, and I didn't care that a nurse had to help me get dressed, I just wanted to get out of there.
I was wheeled out to the car in a wheelchair that moved much to quickly and that I was convinced I was going to fall out of. I slept all the way home and the rest of the weekend was spent in a blur of sleeping and disturbingly large gaps of memory.
In conclusion: minor procedure my ass. That was the bloddy most terrifying thing I have ever experienced and there is no way in hell I ever want to go through anything like it again. But what makes it more perfect is, I probably will have to go through it again. But worse. Because I might need surgery on my small intestines. If I woke up before they finished pulling a tube out of my throat and freaked out, how am I going to react if I wake up before they're done sewing me back together?
No. Thank. You.
Even though it technically wasn't a surgical procedure, I'm insisting on calling it exploratory surgery, because 1. they did take tissue samples and they were looking for tumors/cancer and 2. it was traumatizing enough for me to think it merits as surgery. People just don't understand the horrifying impact it had on my unless I call it surgery.
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| They also promised me unicorns and rainbows |
Everyone lied.
It was the most traumatizing experience I've ever gone through and I've been to the head trauma center for a possible broken neck.
 |
| I thought I could fly as a child |
Once they took me to the surgery room, they proceeded to grill me about my bodily functions and then sprayed this foul tasting gunk into my mouth, which immediately made my tongue, jaw, and throat go completely numb. And then they asked me more questions. Questions that I couldn't answer because they had just stolen the power of speech from me. Then they gave me knock out drugs that made me loose grip on both reality and my general motor skills. Despite this I was expected to roll over onto my side and open my mouth wide enough to have a harness strapped to my head to keep my mouth open.
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| It was worse than this. |
The next thing I knew, I was semi-conscious, blind and struggling to breath around this mass of rubber tubing almost completely blocking my entire esophagus. I responded as any sane, half alive creature would do; I started struggling afraid I was going to suffocate. This led to me being held down and told to breathe deeply and calm down. This made me struggle more, especially when I felt the tubing being pulled out slowly. I could feel it in it's entirety, from my mouth and throat all the way down into my stomach. I. Was. Terrified. ... and still completely unable to see.
The end of the procedure and my journey into the recovery room was blurred; I can't remember much of it except for people telling me to calm down and blurry flashes of light. The next lucid memory I had was of my dad holding my hand and wiping away the tears on my face. The doctor was there, but I couldn't understand anything he was telling me. I remember a nurse forcing me to drink some water, being questioned on how much pain I was in, and my IV being pulled out. I was in pain, I was confused, and I didn't care that a nurse had to help me get dressed, I just wanted to get out of there.
I was wheeled out to the car in a wheelchair that moved much to quickly and that I was convinced I was going to fall out of. I slept all the way home and the rest of the weekend was spent in a blur of sleeping and disturbingly large gaps of memory.
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| I was probably acting like this |
In conclusion: minor procedure my ass. That was the bloddy most terrifying thing I have ever experienced and there is no way in hell I ever want to go through anything like it again. But what makes it more perfect is, I probably will have to go through it again. But worse. Because I might need surgery on my small intestines. If I woke up before they finished pulling a tube out of my throat and freaked out, how am I going to react if I wake up before they're done sewing me back together?
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| I just know I'll look like that |
No. Thank. You.
Even though it technically wasn't a surgical procedure, I'm insisting on calling it exploratory surgery, because 1. they did take tissue samples and they were looking for tumors/cancer and 2. it was traumatizing enough for me to think it merits as surgery. People just don't understand the horrifying impact it had on my unless I call it surgery.
